


Winter at Eboracum

by UrsulaKohl



Category: The Silver Branch - Rosemary Sutcliff
Genre: Ancient Rome, Gen, Historical medical procedures, Medicine, Sick Child, Socks, Wine, mentoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 08:00:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14807426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UrsulaKohl/pseuds/UrsulaKohl
Summary: They didn't see battle that winter, but even in temporary peace a legion's surgeons had work to do, and Justin's new assistant had much to learn.





	Winter at Eboracum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tanaqui](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tanaqui/gifts).



> Esse autem chirurgus debet... animo intrepidus; misericors sic, ut sanari velit eum, quem accepit, non ut clamore eius motus vel magis quam res desiderat properet, vel minus quam necesse est secet; sed perinde faciat omnia, ac si nullus ex vagitibus alterius adfectus oriatur. 
> 
> A surgeon ought to be... fearless of spirit; merciful to the point that he wishes to heal his patient, but not so that he is moved by his patient's shouting or that he hurry beyond the desired pace, or that he cut less than is necessary; but from that point he should do everything as if no emotion were aroused by the screams of another person.
> 
> Aulus Cornelius Celsus, _De Medicina_.

The tavern was close to the bridge, and trying to attract sophisticated patrons: there were benches and even a few couches rather than stools, and the wine came all the way from Sicily. Justin felt strange reclining at the back while the tavernkeeper and his wife spoke to other customers, over the long, low bar. But Flavius had invited him to celebrate the centurion Tullio's birthday, and Justin thought he should introduce his new capsarius, Melisus, to more of the legion's officers. Melisus was nineteen, and tall for any age, but he kept his head bent and his shoulders pushed together, as if he could occupy the space of a smaller man. Justin watched him cradling a wine-cup and thought, _he seems so young_. Then he smiled inwardly, to see himself as the source of age and wisdom.

They had all, save Melisus, seen enough fighting that they didn't need to boast about it. At first they kept the conversation to cheerful things: a comparison of the fort's baths with the city's newer ones, the quality of the wine, sweet and thick, and sometimes women. The tavernkeeper's wife was wearing bracelets made of jet, that shone dark against her milky skin. "And she has a sister," the optio Crescens said, brown eyes wide open with conviction, "whose hair is the bright gold of beech trees in autumn. Imagine her, with jet pins in her hair. The most beautiful woman in Eboracum!"

Voturius looked skeptical—but Voturius had a woman and a child, somewhere in the city. He ladled more wine into their cups and toasted, "Drink for many years!"

"So many years, Tullio!" Crescens teased. "You're getting old."

"I don't like the other choices," Tullio answered, drinking deep.

"If the Picts come south again," Voturius said, "we may die for Rome yet."

"N-not if I have anything to say about it," Justin broke in, feeling all the responsibility of the surgeon.

"It's strange," Flavius mused, "how some small thing can seem worse than death. When I was a child, I was certain one of the spiders that lived in the woodpile was going to crawl across my face in the middle of the night."

"And I have never liked high places," Voturius said. "What about you, Justin? What was your childhood fear?"

"Being closed in somewhere, and not able to get out."

Melisus was next in the circle. "I was afraid of fire," he said softly. 

Justin had marked the scar on Melisus' hand, with the oddly tanned skin characteristic of burns. "You may find things are different, when a task is before you," he said slowly, remembering his own experience with enclosed spaces and fires, and Pandarus' rose.

Then Tullio declared, "The task before me is this empty cup!" and the talk turned back to wine and laughter.

* * *

  
One misty February morning, Justin met Melisus in the infirmary. Justin had received a letter from Aunt Honoria earlier in the week, and with it a package from Volumnia: a little pot of honey, bittersweet from chestnuts, and a pair of socks. The socks were of scarlet wool, one thread cunningly looped upon itself. The color and the gift together warmed him, though the sun had not yet risen.

Justin made his first rounds with Melisus at his side, quizzing his capsarius about the events of the overnight shift. The night had been quiet: with the legion temporarily at peace, most of the beds were empty. But there were always fights and accidents, and all the army's doctors watched vigilantly for contagion. 

A man from Tullio's century was laid low with a fever. He shifted on his bed, his forehead damp.

"Was he sweating, on your previous round?" Justin asked.

"No," Melisus said automatically, and then, "... or maybe yes. The hours run together, in the night."

"Have you no r-record, then?"

Melisus was flushing like their patient: that was clear, even in the lamplight. "Doctor, I am not a learned man."

Melisus could write his name, and keep a tally, and bandage a wound. That was different from studying medical treatises, but it would do to start with. "Fetch hot water," Justin said, "and a cup, and two pieces of chalk."

Melisus looked uneasy, but he was swift returning. They gave the patient water, in small sips. Then Justin chalked a water droplet on the wall, and a tally mark. "The wall will remember for us," he told Melisus.

"It is as you say," Melisus answered, and maybe he stood a little straighter.

* * *

  
Justin was dreaming of flowers: pale yellow cowslips, hanging from soft green bells, in a meadow that seemed to go on forever. They nodded softly in the wind, and he heard chiming. The sound grew louder; and then he realized the bells were Cullen's silver apples, and Cullen was shaking him awake. "There is a family come to see you, Lord, and indeed they cannot wait."

There were three of them: a woman with unbound hair, huddled in a thick wool shawl, the centurion Voturius, his dark face all shadows in the flickering lamplight, and the child he carried. The child was moaning softly, in the way of someone who has lost the strength to scream. "We think she woke up cold," the woman said, "and stumbled into the fire. Voturius said you might help, even if she's just a child and not a soldier."

"And so I w-will," said Justin. "Cullen, run to the infirmary, and tell Melisus to prepare a bed, and grind lentils with honey."

Melisus met them at the infirmary door and said, " _Medice,_ everything is as you ordered," but he sucked in his breath sharply when he saw the little girl. They went into the sickroom together, Justin and Melisus and the family, with Cullen trailing after. Voturius laid the child upon the bed, and undid the blanket he had wrapped around her. The girl's shift had burned, and bits of blackened linen clung to her wounds.

" _Sa, sa,_ little one. We will make this right," said Justin. He added, to her mother, "Will she take some medicine?"

They coaxed her to take a tiny spoonful, though the henbane seed was bitter. The lamp wavered a little, in Melisus' hand. 

"And now, Voturius, please take the mother of your child to my office," Justin instructed. "Cullen will find you something hot to drink."

"I would not leave her," said the woman.

"I need to clean the wound."

They stared at each other for a moment, and then the woman nodded and gathered her shawl back around her. "We will wait."

When they were gone, Justin told Melisus, "We will bathe the wound with salt water, but I need to pull away the fabric with tweezers, and cut out the dead flesh. You will have to hold her."

Melisus had set the lantern down, and was rubbing his right hand with his left thumb. "Sir. I am not certain that I can do this thing."

"I will be certain f-for you."

"I was older than her, and stupider. I thought I could make a toy fortress and set it on fire, in honor of Brigantia. I screamed a lot."

"But now you have work to do. Two tasks: hold the child, and tell me a story of the goddess Brigantia. Because otherwise I will have to go and ask her father."

Melisus was silent for a moment. The pre-dawn gray was beginning to show at the windows. Justin thought he heard, beneath the child's whimpers, the sound of bells.

"Then it shall be so," said Melisus. His tale stumbled sometimes, in the telling. But Justin's hands were steady, and outside the sky was growing brighter.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Tanaqui for an inspirational prompt and Riven Thorn for thoughtful and thought-provoking beta-reading.
> 
> I am indebted to Molly Jones-Lewis and Patricia Anne Baker for their dissertations on Roman medicine, which prompted me to read Aurelius Celsus. The translation of the epigram is based on Molly's. Any errors in medical practice, by ancient or modern rule, are my own.


End file.
